A Different Point of View
by Appassionata
Summary: The age-old question is answered. Does the crow bring back villains? Please R&R!
1. The Beginning

A Different Point of View  
  
Summary: Answers the age-old question: Does the Crow bring back villains? Basically, a Crow story, from the POV of the villain, Top Dollar's, illegit daughter, about finally meeting her Dad, who has been brought back for a short period of time to insure that his daughter does not follow in his fiery footsteps. Please R/R!  
  
Rating: PG-13 I suppose.lots of violence, language and fire involved, heh. Depending on the reviews I get on it, I may or may not continue with it.  
  
"I am, whatever you say I am.if I wasn't, then why would I say I am? I'm so sick and tired of being admired."  
  
What a coincidence, I thought, so am I. I took a drag of my cigarette. The bartender shot me a murderous glare, but I merely smiled in return. He grumbled something about "kids these days" and moved on to serve a middle- age blonde woman at the end of the bar.  
  
His assistant approached me, frowning, "Yen, doll-baby, ya know ya shouldn't smoke those things." He said disapprovingly.  
  
I exhaled, forming a blue-gray smoke ring around his face, "Yeah, I know it. That sure ain't gonna stop me though." Then grinned as 'cutely' as I could.  
  
Maybe he was right. I was only 14.  
  
Giving a mental shrug, I returned to my drink, only to realize that idiot bartender had replaced my scotch and soda with just plain soda. Hmm. Not good. He seemed to have forgotten whom exactly he was dealing with.  
  
"Yo, bitch!" I hollered at him. He turned slowly, a shade paler than the last time I'd seen him, "What's up with this?" I growled, gesturing with one long-fingered hand to my scotch and soda, sans scotch.  
  
"I, uh -" he stuttered, "Look, Yen.don't do this. Ya don't wanna grow up like yer Daddy, do ya? C'mon, a criminal who gets ousted by an insane clown boy? I tell ya, that's the road yer headin' down."  
  
I rolled my eyes back in my head for a minute. I wasn't all that pissed, but I had to let this dude know who was boss, "In case you've forgotten, bastard, Insane Clown Boy went back to the 'other side'." I said, tilting my head to the side and smirking cruelly, my expression reading, 'You're a friggin' idiot'. "And when has it ever been your damn business what I do with MY fuckin' life?" I exclaimed.  
  
He sighed in defeat. Good. "Right, right." he muttered and fished out a half-empty scotch bottle from under the bar, adding it to the Coke resting near my left hand. I flicked an ash on his hand before he could pull back and chuckled to myself as he frantically brushed it away.  
  
"That'll teach ya." I growled to myself. He should've known not to mess with me. He knew my Daddy, even if I didn't. People say I'm a lot like him. I look like him, talk like him, Lord knows I act like him all the time. If he were alive, he'd probably wish I was a boy. But he ain't here, and there ain't no comin' back, in the real world anyhow. Top Dollar is no more, but Little Yen remains. Yeah, that's me. Little Yen. Idiotic name, huh? I guess it's better than my real one. Pyralis. Pyralis Mitsu Dranko. In case you couldn't tell, my Mama was Japanese. That's where Little Yen came from; some stupid ass thought it'd be funny, since my Mama was Japanese and my Pa was called Top Dollar, to call me Little Yen. He explained that Yen is the currency in Japan. Let's just say for starting something like that, he lost a few fillings. Doesn't matter now. Thanks to that jerkoff, everyone calls me Yen. Not like I'd rather be called Ally. My Ma always used to call me that, the psycho bitch. She's dead now. Killed in a tragic house fire. People were amazed that I survived. I was only twelve years old. They never thought, of course, that perhaps, just maybe, I'd set the damn place on fire. Didn't know Ma was in there; that was just a bonus.  
  
Anyway, that was two years ago, in good ol' Louisiana, nonetheless. After I burned the house down - 'scuse me, after the house burned down, I decided to take matters into my own singed hands. My Ma had told me all she knew about Pa, lots of times. She said he was handsome in a strange way, and that he'd never paid her for her 'services'. Yeah, she was a whore. Anyway, I knew Pa lived in Michigan - Detroit, no less. Arson city, baby. I knew where I was goin' next, obviously. Ma had no relatives to speak of, and nobody knew about Pa except for me. In simple English (just for all you idiots out there), that meant I had to hitchhike from Louisiana to Michigan at twelve years old. It was fun, but weird. Met a lot of fucked up folks on the way. Got taken to adoption centers, juvenile detention, anyplace you can think of - I was there. Only took me a few weeks, too. I guess I'm stronger than I thought.  
  
Back to the point. I got to Michigan just this year, I think it took me about five weeks, but I kinda lost count. By the time I got to Detroit, though, it was too late. Pa was gone. He'd been killed by some Draven dude; they were both gone now. I never got to meet him. Not that I care much though. I knew he used to hang out at The Pit (hey, I asked around. You gotta do what you gotta do), so I went there to see if his old apartment was still available. Lo and behold, it was. So here I am, blabbing the story of my life.  
  
Anyway, back to the bar. I heard footsteps on the staircase and had to smile. That's another thing about me, I smile like Pa too. Creeps people out and I like that. Soon enough I felt rather than saw someone standing near me. He eventually stood behind me, towering over me easily since I was sitting down.  
  
"Hey Pa." I drawled conversationally. I've got one messed up accent - learned to talk from a full-bore Japanese woman born and raised in Louisiana.  
  
"Hey Doll." I heard him say behind me. He's got this awesome voice, all rough and freaky from smoking for so long.  
  
I guess I should explain at this point, huh? Here I was, jawing about how my Pa was gone but I didn't miss him, that I lived in his old apartment - and then I go and say that he's still around to talk to me. No, I don't see ghosts. At least, I don't think I do. I also ain't crazy, despite what you may have heard folks say.  
  
Pa came back. I didn't think it was possible, but he came back. Just a few days after I'd moved into his apartment, there was this huge commotion downstairs. I went to see what it was. Turned out not to be a what, but a who. A man, to be more specific. Long dark hair; so damn brown it was near black. Really pale skin, just like mine. Eyes that were like blood on pavement - dark with a twinge of red. The whole room looked like they'd seen a ghost, but Mr. Mysterious only turned to the nearest bastard and asked, in a voice that could've frozen Hell over, for a cigarette. Everyone seemed shocked to shit to see him.I didn't know who he was, but he looked damn important. Damn dangerous, too. Finally, some little fuck hobbled up to him and said, "Bossman.is it really you?" The guy just laughed, asked the guy who the fuck else it might be. Then he looked at me. He knew something I didn't, I was sure of it at that point. Shit. Now he was walking towards me, like there was something that separated me from the rest. He eyed me, looking me up and down like so many other guys had in the past. "C'mon."  
  
Was all he said. It was all he needed to say, too. I got off that stool so fast it coulda been on fire. 


	2. Daddy's Little Girl?

So anyway.things with Pa went pretty well for the first few weeks. We lived in the same room, but we managed to get along, to not kill each other after the first few days. From there, though, it got pretty bad. One day, I swear we were about two inches away from throttlin' each other. It went somethin' like this.  
I was sitting on the couch in our apartment. I'd been there all  
fucking day, just sitting there and waiting for Pa to get home. He'd  
left early in the morning.before I'd even woken up. The bastard.  
So anyway, he comes in all grinnin' and swaggerin' like he owns the  
damn place. Well, he does, but that ain't the goddamn point. I started  
in on him real quick.  
"Pa.this ain't workin'," I said, "I came here 'cause Ma died.I  
expected a parent, not a fucking drug lord who leaves me all alone  
every single day!"  
  
He just glared at me.  
"I didn't ask for you to kill your mother, you little bitch. I sure as  
hell didn't ask you to come here, I didn't ask to be sent back here  
and forced to fucking play 'house' with you until you got bored of me  
and moved on. To me, you ain't here. You didn't exist before and you  
don't exist now. You have no idea how fucking happy I'll be when  
school starts so you'll be out of my goddamn life for seven hours a  
day."  
I was speechless. Not for long, though.  
"Pa, what the fuck did I ever do to you? I didn't ask to come here  
either! What did you expect me to do? Stay at the old house and starve  
to death on Bourbon Street? Become a whore just like my Ma so I could  
have a daughter who hated me and eventually killed me?  
"I'm sorry if that's what you want of me now, but it sure as hell  
ain't gonna happen. I'm not leaving, goddammit!"  
That's when he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt with one hand and  
pulled me up so I was almost his height. I had no idea he was so  
strong, and it kinda scared me.  
"Listen here." He growled. "If you're gonna live here, you're gonna  
keep your goddamn mouth shut and do whatever I tell you to do. When I  
say jump, you better goddamn well say 'How high,' or it'll be your  
fucking head. You hear me?" I just nodded, and he let me go. I'd seen  
the swords he kept in that weapons locker.I knew he wasn't kidding  
when he said 'it'll be your head.' So.things got better after that. I kept quiet like he told me to, and school started the next month, so I was okay. He told me he was gonna get me some new clothes too, 'cause the ones I had were crap. I liked my old ones, but whatever he said went. At least, back then it did. 


End file.
